


The Sounds She Makes

by SecondFromTheRight



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: Now, now that he’s had her, had this. Something good and something he feels part of it. Now that he’s remembered life and something he’s terrified could be love - he can go out with Karen on his lips, in his lungs, with her saying his name in his ear. He can go out swaying in this elevator with her, her forehead against his.The elevator scene goes a little differently (they have sex)





	The Sounds She Makes

**Author's Note:**

> The elevator scene is perfect. I would not change a thing. But, you know, fanfic.
> 
> I'll be honest, I wrote most of this on my phone while I was brushing my teeth. It is pretty rough. I highly doubt there's much originality in it.

“Frank. Frank.” She says it delicately, like he's fragile and like she's scared, for him.

He hasn't stopped, can't, but her calling his name breaks through. He follows her eyes as she looks at him, at the state of him. They both stumble towards each other, meeting in the middle of the elevator. She presses her lips together and Frank looks away, dips his head and closes his eyes. He knows this is it, knows he falls right here. If he looks at her, he'll break, he'll _stop_ , finally. He bobs his head, counts to 5 before he does it, before he raises his head and looks at her. And more, lets her see him. Her eyes are red and shining new tears, for him. She has a cut on her head to match his own. He just wants to fall into her. His eyes flicker to her lips, if he could just - and she notices. Her stare becomes more intense as she feels it, but fuck she just meets him, stares right back. He looks back to her lips.

He kisses her, covering her mouth with his own. It isn’t gentle but she pushes back as they hit the wall behind her. He takes the gun out of her hands without looking, chucks it on top of her bag next to them as it lands with a soft thump on the leather.

They both moan as his crotch presses against hers. She’s the perfect fucking height – he needs this, needs her. The only thing left in this world he can fall apart to. She tilts her hips against him, aligning herself with him even more.

They break off, both panting.

“Frank, Frank.” She says it harsher now, with need.

She can keep saying it. If she just keeps saying it he can remember he’s alive, who he’s been, that she sees him.

They don’t have time for this but he’s ready to end this way. If she asks, if she’ll be here too. Frank just lost trust in someone he thought was part of him, but he hasn’t lost belief in her, in what he feels right now. She’s alive, she’s safe. He needs to know she’s still here; he needs to know he's still here. Back there can’t be the last of it, the last of him; he'll choose her.

Her hands are on his zip as she leans against him. He pushes right back, shoves her against the wall harder. He mouths at her neck as she reaches inside his pants. He’s stiff but hardens even more just from the brush of her hand, responding to her, needing her. He grips her waist, feeling one half of her shirt already loose. He yanks at the other side, untucking the silk and then moves his hand up her ribs, feeling her hands pause on him as she inhales as his fingers move over her. Then he’s at her breast, thumbing over her hard nipple and squeezing her breast. She arches against him and he wants to pull back, wants to watch, but there’s no time. There’s never any fucking time for them. He’s taking this, he needs this.

“Karen.” he breathes, asks.

“Yes, yes.”

He feels her nod, her neck arching against his mouth as she grips him again, urging him on. He runs his hands down to the ends of her skirt. That fucking pencil skirt he’s never not seen on her. But he can see her in it a different way now. Not with papers and questions, not looking scared and running for her life. He wants her a mess from this, this right now, not from all the bullshit he brings and that she can’t seem to be keep out of.

He shoves her skirt up, feeling her legs as he goes, smooth and never-ending. He grips her ass, his hand against her panties as he tugs her against him, her hand in between them falling away. Then she pushes him back so she can touch him again, takes her own control as she uncovers him, guiding his dick out of his underwear. He feels the air against him, her hot hand gripping in comparison and he tries not to rut into her hand.

“Frank, Frank.” Urging him on.

He won’t say he growls, but it’s a close noise as he squeezes his hand between her legs, Karen immediately spreading them to accommodate him. He feels her, first through her panties and then finally just her as he tugs her underwear aside like she did his. She whimpers as his finger touches her. She’s wet, for him, for them, for this. Realises she’s fucking soaking as he spreads her arousal up to her clit and down again with his thumb, dipping inside only a touch as he makes sure she’s ready for him.

“Fra-ank.” She says it high-pitched, stretching out his name as she reacts to him touching her for the first time.

How many ways can this woman say his name? He wants to find out, wants to know.

She yanks at him, a little more than he’d like and he grunts at it but takes the damn hint.

He wishes his right arm wasn’t fucked but he’ll make do with one. Nothing is stopping this. Not his bum arm, not the cops, not Madani, not Billy fucking Russo. The only thing that has power over him now is Karen Page. She’s the only thing he’s yielding to.

“Frank.” she says it with urgency this time.

And she’s right. No time, no fucking time to take her one breath at a time, to see how many fingers she can take. No time to watch her react as he works up like he wants. No time to explore how deep, how fast she really likes. No time to even take her fucking blouse off. But he can still have her, have this.

The pencil skirt bunches at her waist, her underwear pulled aside as he tucks his good arm under her ass and lifts her. She’s tall, he doesn’t have to lift her much till she’s perfect, just that extra that makes it easier to slide right in. She wraps herself around his waist, uses the wall at her back to help keep her up.

He takes the 2 seconds they don’t have to rub himself against her slit, introducing his cock to her wetness. It’s worth every pain shooting down his arm to do it. When she keens and judders against him he damns everything else to hell that he can’t give her more, can't give them more. But she gets it, like she gets everything else. She tips her head back and nods at him, pushing her hips into him.

Heat. Mind-numbing heat that blinds everything else. He feels her exhale as he groans, his head falling against her shoulder. He’s barely inside her yet, wants to go slow, feel every second, but she digs her nails against his shoulders, pulling him towards her. He pushes right in, bottoming out. She moans and he raises his head to look at her as he stills inside her. She’s a mess. And beautiful. He watches her throat work as she swallows before she opens her eyes to look at him. He pulls back out when she does, then thrusts back in again. He stares at her the whole time, his breathing becoming harsh as he watches her feel him inside her.

She grips him on every movement, her muscles working him. She's tight and perfect - of course she's fucking perfect for him. Her body lifts, jumps each time he pushes back in, her eyes fluttering every single fucking thrust. He loves that. Karen Page, being worked by him. Karen Page, losing control because of him, with him.

Then she pulls at his shirt, puts her hand on her face and brings him to her as she kisses him. He loves that even more. Her mouth is hot and demanding, her tongue against his. She presses her teeth into his lip, and then she stops, her forehead against his as she breathes against him.

“Frank.” Like discovery or some shit this time, like it's _right_.

Frank realises then and there that she’s going to make him come like that, just like that, saying his damn name. And it’s going to be soon. Sooner than he’d like, but maybe not sooner than they actually have.

He drives into her, breathes against her as she does him, panting into each other’s mouths. In and out, her walls fucking milking him every slide. Fuck he needs another hand, wishes he could touch her properly. Tension coils as everything else but her is gone. His ears ring, replacing the dinging of the stop alarm of the elevator. Heat and strength, life, her. Karen, Karen, Karen.

“Frank.” It's even breathier than before, a fucking plea, and he's done.

“Karen.” He grunts out as he comes inside her, feels her inhale of breath when he does. He kisses her, softer, longer.

“Frank." She hums, a giggle in her voice. He hears the potential of happiness, of him making her happy. He opens his eyes and sees a smile on her lips that he’s staring at. Small and sweet and real. He wants – he wants.

He didn’t get to make her come.

“You got a tissue in that bag?” is what he asks her, gruffly. He’s still inside her, softening. He doesn’t want to leave, not her body, not this space.

He feels her emotionally withdraw from his as he physically stays inside her. Her smile dims and she blinks twice, her head stopping on the turn of a shake of her head.

“No, but it’s fine. I –“ It's the first time she actually sounds vulnerable and separate from him.

He doesn’t want to leave, but he leaves her body. His spent dick pulling out of her. He feels cold suddenly away from her, all through his body. She tries to adjust herself as he lets her down again, feet flat on the floor again. He shoves himself back inside his pants, sees the shine of her still on his dick. She dips her head as she avoids eye contact. Frank remembers her smile, knows she doesn’t regret it, regret them, so he doesn’t say anything as he makes sure she’s steady again. He stops her when she goes to push her skirt back down and she finally looks at him again with a frown.

“Frank?” She says as a question now.

He still doesn’t say anything as she lowers himself in front of her, doesn't respond to her quick intake of breath. He has to keep his injured arm away from her, knows there’s fucking shrapnel sticking out of him that he doesn’t want anywhere near her. So it’s at an angle that he places his head to the juncture of her legs. He uses his good hand against her hip to keep her against the wall as he puts his mouth on her.

He feels her thighs tense against him. Still no time, less time now. He can’t enjoy her, not fully. But he’s making her come. He wanted her a mess and he got it but like fuck is he letting anyone else see her. Like fuck is he leaving her alone to clean herself up while people question her about him and she has to lie about them, hide them.

He tongues her slit, his tongue flat as he tastes them both, tastes himself on her. He curses himself for not getting to taste her first, just her. Curses every fucker who’s outside these doors.

“Frank!” Trembling.

Can feel it in her body as well as hear it in her voice. When he stops tasting himself as much, he latches onto her clit. She cries out at that, Frank feels her pushing herself off the ground a little. He doesn’t stop. Feels her throb against his lips as he sucks against her. He wants to put his fingers inside her, make it better, but he still can’t get his right side near her and he doesn’t think he can remove his other hand from her hip without her falling over, he can feel her pushing against him.

She rocks against him too, tilting back towards him as she chases her own high. As it becomes more paced, faster, he knows she’s near. Better, he knows she’s enjoying it.

“Frank, Frank, Frank.” Tiny, quick breaths.

He can barely hear her but it’s still enough, still everything as he finally presses his tongue against her. She stills as she cries out.

“Fuck, Frank!” She says his name louder now, like it's her own release alone and his cock twitches at it.

When she slumps, her breathing deep and heavy, he doesn’t want to stop. But she makes this sound as she twists against him, her body too sensitive. He releases her clit, laps along her lips and finally tastes just her.

She breathes out another laugh that turns into a moan, and then a sigh as she leans back against the wall.

He stops but sits there in front of her, on his knees before her, just for a moment, just for a moment he doesn’t have. But they didn’t really have any of this moment but they took it and made it theirs anyway.

When he pulls back, fixing her panties in place again, covering her to everyone else, he sees he’s left blood on her thigh, on the crease of her leg, from his head wound. He tries to wipe it away. He wants her a mess – his mess – but not like this.

“Frank, it’s okay.” She says soothingly, comfort.

It’s not fucking okay. None of this is okay. Billy is already staining her, through him. None of this is okay. He wants to take her back to her place. Bathe her, cleanse her, fucking love her.

He tips his head against her, feels his eyes water up as he steels himself. Suddenly he feels the loss of blood affecting him again.

“Frank.”

She grabs at his shoulders, pulls him up. He goes - can’t not - till he’s standing in front of her again. He stares at her. Karen Page. He wants to fall against her, into her. She’s looking at his injuries again and then she wipes away some of his blood too, at his temple, trying to get rid of it, trying to cleanse him. She looks at him with worry and like his pain actually physically hurts her too. He doesn’t want that for her, but he wants her.

He bows his head and she meets him, their foreheads together. He breathes. Just breathes. Karen Page, Karen Page, Karen Page. He opens his eyes and there’s this peaceful smile on her lips. He knows then that she’s truly here with him – and that she’s better than him, stronger.

He kisses her, breathes into her mouth. She’s soft, and gentle compared to the need of before. It feels like she’s trying to take care of him in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever deserved. Their foreheads press together again, a godamn habit already

They’re swaying. Even here in this elevator, with everyone coming for him and at the end, she gives him life. They could be dancing. But the only music is the stop alarm still going on and he can hear the start of movement of the cops hitting multiple floors. And Frank thinks this is okay, he could maybe go out like this. Now, now that he’s had her, had this. Something good and something he feels part of it. Now that he’s remembered life and something he’s terrified could be love - he can go out with Karen on his lips, in his lungs, with her saying his name in his ear. He can go out swaying in this elevator with her, her forehead against his. It’s cold steel and the light is unforgiving and the alarm won’t shut the fuck up, screaming out his own state of emergency, but she dims all that, because she’s soft and bright and is holding him up and letting him finally enjoy quiet. She calms him. And that smile – that’s it.

Then she sniffs, touches his arm and pulls away and he’s left cold, again. He actually feels confused for a second that suddenly she’s gone. Reality hits. But then she’s making it better, again.

“Go on, go.” She says quietly, softly.

Because she’s standing there encouraging him to leave her. She’s helping him save himself. Again. He realises he doesn’t even want to, doesn’t want outside. Doesn’t want the cops and Madani and figuring out if Billy helped kill his family, questioning when his best friend changed, at what point the first betrayal was. He doesn’t want to go back to the bunker and deal with Micro. He just wants to stay here in this bubble with her. Karen Page is alive and he stopped the psycho coming after her – they did it together. He can focus on that, that can feel like everything.

He stares at her, almost silently pleading with her to let him just stay here. But she steels herself, stares right back and shows another small smile, a different one, one of strength and acceptance and encouragement that it’s okay, he can do this, it’s what he needs to do, as he keeps staring at her. Frank hasn't cared much about absolution for a long time, but he sees it in Karen right now and it's powerful, keeps him standing.

He takes her in as much as he can. Remembers how she looks, how she feels when it’s just them. He wants to kiss her again, but if he takes another step towards her, Frank knows he won’t leave again, won’t have the strength. He only has it now because he’s borrowing it from her.

“Take care.” is all he can say as he looks away. He wants to say so much more, but _please, Karen, please take care, of yourself_ , because at least knowing she’s there, and she’s okay, he can keep moving then.

He jumps up, gripping the top of the elevator, the pain screaming through his arm as he pulls himself through. He roars through it and he hears her take a shaky breath when he’s quiet again, almost fucking cries on the spot, but he squeezes his eyes shut instead, sees her tipping her head back, feels her against him and breathing, calling, crying, trembling, soothing his name, and then he climbs.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I would not change a thing about how the scene played out on screen. And one of the things I like most about that scene is the lack of dialogue, so I didn't want to change that. Karen saying "Frank" over and over seemed like a way to go.
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


End file.
